d
and deeply-tried passion of my soul, prostrate in spirit
before him, living in the light of his eyes, and almost
longing to die in his presence, and by his hand, ere aught in
earth, or in Heaven, should divide us. The wilful, terrified
abstraction, that made me repulse every thought connected with
the future, and cling with frantic intensity to my happiness
while it lasted, gave it a character difficult to describe;
and Edward, in the very height of his love, and while carried
out of himself by its resistless influence, would sometimes
ask me, why there was no peace in my happiness, no repose in
my love;--why, when his hand held mine, and my head was
resting on his shoulder, I sometimes murmured in a tone of
thrilling and passionate emotion, "Let me die _here_."

"Ask not," I would then reply. "Ask not why some flowers shut
their leaves beneath the full blaze of the sun. Ask not why
the walls of the Abbey Church tremble, as the full peal of the
organ vibrates through the aisles. Ask not why the majesty of
a starry night makes me weep, or why the intensity of bliss
makes me shudder."

"But I love you, my Ellen," Edward would answer; "I, too, love
you with all the powers of my soul. My happiness is intense as
yours; and yet, in the very excess of both, there is trust and
peace."

"Because," I replied, "because no two characters were ever
more dissimilar than ours. A calm and mighty river is not more
unlike the torrent which swells with the rain, and ebbs the
next day, than your nature is to mine. Do not try to
understand me, Edward: I say it in the deepest humility, you
cannot fathom the folly and the weakness of my soul; but thus
much you may believe, that as the mountain stream, chafe and
foam as it may, has but one object and one end, so, the varied
impulses and the restless fluctuations of my uneasy spirit
tend but to one result--its unlimited love, its boundless
devotion, to you."

Edward always seemed touched by the expression of my ardent
affection, and responded to it in the tenderest and kindest
manner; but it did not always efface from his countenance
something of perplexity and regret, which the inequality of my
spirits, and of my temper, raised in his mind.

Before we left Hampstead, Mrs. Middleton told the Moores of my
engagement; and Rosa, who had for some days past guessed at
the state of things, wished me joy, with the greatest warmth
and animation; but she unconsciously threw a bitter ingredi